Jenny Smith was ready to scream.

She liked kids. She did. But the McGallagher twins were two of the brattiest, vilest, evilest little midgets she had ever had the misfortune of babysitting. For ten-year-olds, they were too smart for their own good. First they tag-teamed her with water guns the second their parents drove away. Then they stole her phone and texted every boy listed a love note. Then they flushed her science notes down the toilet and the test was tomorrow and Mr. Harmon's tests were harder than most college exams.

The high school senior glared at her two charges, who were sitting on the couch in front of her. She swore they could communicate psychically and the looks they kept exchanging were worrisome.

"My mother used to tell me that little children that do not behave will get carted off by the boogeyman." She tried to sound threatening. Jenny noticed their ears perked up though. Hmm. Maybe she could use this. "Haven't you ever heard the story of the boogeyman?" She dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. Yep, they were hooked. Little boys were so predictable. Mention anything even slightly forbidden or secret and they wouldn't be able to let it go.

The one on the left swallowed. Ethan, she was pretty sure. "What about the boogeyman?" he whispered, brown eyes open wide. His brother, Logan, nodded with his mouth open.

Jenny was dancing inside. "If you two get changed and go to bed right now, I'll tell you the whole story. It's very scary, though, I don't know if you're old enough to hear it…" The boys were off the couch and halfway up the stairs before she finished. Why didn't she do this two hours ago? Jenny sighed at her earlier self's mistake and followed the boys.

Inside their room, she sat at the bottom of the queen the twins shared. They had brushed their teeth and hair and were in matching Spiderman pajamas, wearing twin expressions of anticipation and fear. To keep up the air of fear, Jenny purposely left only one bedside light on, leaving the rest of the room shrouded in darkness. The two boys huddled close to each other. She could tell they were holding their breath.

"When I was a little girl," Jenny's voice was low so they had to lean forward to hear everything. "My mother told me a story that her mother told her that her mother brought over from the homeland of Russia. She spoke of the boogeyman—or, in Russian, the buka. Buka is an old, old man with a huge nose and warts all over, long, twisted fingers and burning red eyes with a heart even darker than the darkest night."

The boys' brown eyes could not possibly get any wider. The wind helped out her story by causing a tree branch to knock against the window, causing all three to jump at the sudden sound. Jenny briefly considered toning the story down. But to hell with it. They had tortured her earlier.

"The buka carries a sack with him everywhere he goes. It's huge and dirty and filled with patches, for it gets much use. He hides in houses with children. His favorite hiding places are the closet She glanced at their closed closet door for effect.—and underneath beds." A brief look down. The boys were practically peeing themselves.

"What does he want?" Ethan finally asked in a strangled whisper.

Jenny waited a moment before answering. "Children." She smiled inwardly at their resulting whimpers. It was kind of mean to scare them like this, yet she was enjoying it. Turning the tables on these terrors was satisfying. It might even make next time run more smoothly. She continued, still in the quiet, grave voice. "The buka takes bad and misbehaving children and puts them in his sack. Then he brings those children back to his cave. No one knows what happens in the cave because…" She paused, taking in their bated breaths. "no child ever returns." She finished in a dramatic whisper.

"That's stupid," Logan is the first to speak. "The boogeyman isn't real." Jenny heard the faint tremble in his voice though. Even his brother looked unconvinced. Someone was going to have fun sleeping tonight.

She stood up to tuck them in. "Maybe. Maybe not. The buka loves to take nonbelievers. I think you should behave from now on." Logan stuck out his tongue as she pulled the covers up. "Goodnight, you monsters," She blew them both a kiss and began walking to the door.

A tiny voice called out before she got there though. "Wait!" Ethan glanced at his brother as if ashamed. "Can…can you check the closet? And the bed?" He kept looking at her as his brother laughed and called him a baby, obviously more scared of the potential boogeyman than Logan's ridicule.

Jenny's voice softened. "Of course." She strode over to the closet, avoiding the various action figures and plastic cars that littered the floor. Flinging open the closet doors, she checked behind the hanging clothes and the darkened floor before declaring it to be clear. Then she walked over to the bed.

Logan had a bored expression on, as if this charade was beneath him. He thought Jenny hadn't noticed his tense shoulders relaxing when she declared the closet safe. Ethan meanwhile was clutching an old teddy bear to his small chest, still with huge eyes. Ah, children.

Dropping to her knees, Jenny thought she caught a whiff of decay. But the smell was gone when she sniffed again. Weird. She crouched down, lifting up the bed skit for a better view. At first only darkness greeted her but then she saw two round spheres gazing back at her. She opened her mouth to scream but only got out a short yelp before a pale, wizened arm shot out and grabbed her neck. She felt herself pulled under the bed with a surprising amount of strength before everything went black.

"Jenny?" Ethan's voice was small. He crawled to the edge of the bed and cautiously looked over the side. "Jenny? Where are you?" he said with a touch of hysteria. The floor was bare. He looked at his brother, who peered over the edge too.

Logan swallowed hard. "This isn't funny, Jenny! Come out!" he said, trying to sound braver than he felt. "We're sorry about earlier, please come out now!"

The boys listened, but the room was quiet except for the continuous tapping from the tree branch on their window.

"Jenny! Come on, stop it!" Ethan was almost in tears by now. Logan grabbed his brother's arm, eyes wide. A dark liquid was slowly spreading out from under the bed. He stretched out his hand to touch it, but Ethan grabbed his arm. "No! Don't!" he said in a horrified whisper. Logan scoffed at his brother, but picked up his pillow and dipped a corner into the puddle. He lifted it to the light. The deep red mark dripped as the two boys screamed.

Somewhere in Wyoming

The town was small and quaint with one main street that held all the stores. Nearly all the buildings had brick fronts and white porches and families walked on the sidewalk waving to every storekeeper and smiling. In short, it seemed like something out of a fairytale.

It freaked Blaine out.

But he was being pushed into a music store by Kurt at the moment so running was not an option. He gave up struggling and walked inside, trying to retain some dignity. Despite his earlier apprehension, though, the store was fairly large. They had a whole wall of electric guitars, another dedicated to acoustic, aisles with tambourines and microphones, a few ukuleles, four large drum sets, and tons of accessories scattered all over the place. Blaine felt his fingers itching to play. But he had sold his guitar for money for food months ago. He couldn't afford to waste another couple hundred on a useless object. He turned to Kurt.

"Why are we in here?"

Blaine didn't like the smirk Kurt had on. It made him nervous. "We are in here because I have five grand left on this." Kurt held up a credit card with a flourish. "I am assuming that having a way for the government to track our movements is undesirable, yes?" He smiled at Blaine's reluctant nod. Blaine was currently wanted in five different states for various reasons. All misunderstandings, of course. "So we should use this up before I ditch it. Therefore…" Kurt walked Blaine over to the acoustic guitars. "You are going to buy a guitar and serenade me on the long, boring, tedious rides."

Blaine decided he really liked seeing Kurt this happy and giddy. Damn him. The guy already had Blaine wrapped around his finger. He really hoped Kurt hadn't realized that, but judging by the look on his face? Yeah. Kurt totally knew.

However, Blaine knew there was no arguing with Kurt. And he had missed playing a lot. Plus serenading Kurt sounded awesome. He reached out to test the nearest one.

"'As you wish, Blaine quoted, smiling at Kurt's giggle.

In the small caf�, with a guitar case resting against Kurt's chair, Blaine poured over a newspaper. Kurt sipped his coffee (a non-fat mocha, and no, Blaine did not immediately commit this information to memory, what are you even talking about?) and watched Blaine scan the articles.

"Anything interesting?" he asked before taking another sip.

"Yeah, actually." Blaine folded the paper and slid it over so Kurt could read. "This article right here," he pointed it out. It had a small picture of a pretty girl, who was maybe about seventeen. "Jenny Smith from Gables, Nebraska. She was babysitting, and she vanished right in front of the two boys she was watching. All they found was a puddle of blood under the boys' bed." Kurt raised his eyebrows at that. "Doors and windows were locked when the parents got home. No one can figure it out."

Kurt slowly nodded. "So…we investigate?" he said with a smile.

"We investigate." Blaine grinned.

This time, they were state troopers. Undercover state troopers, which meant Blaine could wear the black leather jacket he knew Kurt liked so much, and Kurt could rock his boots with fifty buckles. Blaine had slowly managed to get Kurt to dress down in the past few weeks, seeing as graveyards and McQueen pieces did not go well together. His jeans at least were slightly looser and Kurt wore more t-shirts than cashmere sweaters. He still refused to touch plaid or flannel though. Apparently there was a story behind that, but Kurt wouldn't explain. Blaine thought he'd get it out of him eventually though.

The McGallagher house was an average suburban home, well-kept and clean. Kurt and Blaine sat in the living room with the family: Karen and Tom, a couple in their late thirties, and their ten-year-old twins, Ethan and Logan. The twins fidgeted under Blaine's gaze.

"We've already talked to the police. I don't see why we should put my children through any more pain by making them tell you what happened again." Karen said disapprovingly. The blond was obviously used to getting her way. Kurt eyed her expensive wardrobe and meticulously styled hair. He guessed she held an important position in her job. Her husband was slightly more relaxed, with a light beard and a plain polo shirt instead of a button down. The boys, though, had t-shirts and jeans on, but were quieter than any kids Kurt had ever known. They made eye contact with no one but each other.

Blaine put on his best reassuring face. "We understand, but we need to hear everything firsthand. For the report. We want to help Jenny and make sure this never happens again." He said soothingly. Kurt could just see Karen melting. It was a little irritating how easily Blaine charmed people.

"Well…alright. Boys? Answer Officer Collins and Officer Gaines' questions, you hear?" The boys nodded nervously at their mother.

Kurt figured he might as well try to step in. "Why don't you tell us what happened that night?" he said kindly.

The one on the left brushed his light brown hair out of his eyes and crossed his arms, glaring defiantly. Kurt remembered him being identified as Logan. Ethan finally spoke.

"The boogeyman got Jenny," he whispered. His parents exchanged knowing glances, as if they had heard this story before, but Logan glared at his brother.

"You're not supposed to tell!" He said, punching Ethan's shoulder. "He'll come back if we tell!"

"Nuh uh! We gotta tell! We gotta be good now!" Ethan retorted.

Blaine cut in. "Ok, ok. That's enough. Now. Ethan." Ethan turned his big brown eyes on Blaine. "Can you tell me why you think the boogeyman got your babysitter?"

"She was telling us the story. She called him a buka. The buka is a scary old man that hides in closets and under beds and takes away naughty children to their cave where they never come back." Ethan said in a rush. Karen frowned. "So we made her check for the boogeyman in our room but when she looked under the bed he got her." His eyes grew watery. "Me n' Logan were afraid to leave the bed and call someone so we just waited there until Mom and Dad came home."

"There was so much blood." Logan said quietly. "Do you think Jenny's ok?"

"We didn't mean to be bad! We were just having fun!"

"The boogeyman must have been there for us but he got Jenny instead!" Logan burst into tears, Ethan following after a second.

Tom quickly moved to calm the boys and Karen escorted the "officers" to the hall. "I suppose you want to see their room?" she said dryly. "Up the stairs. First door on the right." She watched as Kurt and Blaine climbed the stairs.

On the second floor, the boys' bed room had crime scene tape stretched across the door. Blaine ducked under before motioning for Kurt to follow. He flicked the light switch on. Inside, the room looked like any ten-year old boy's would. It had a space theme, dark blue walls with rocketships plastered around the room, a hard wood floor, and a solar system mobile hanging from the ceiling. The bed had a spaceship patterned comforter, but it was pushed aside. Kurt doubted that the twins had slept in this room since their babysitter vanished.

Spreading out from under the bed was a large, faded bloodstain. The sheer size of it looked foreboding. Jenny could not have survived that much blood loss. Kurt forced down a shudder.

"Kurt, help me move this." Blaine was straining to pull the bed away from the wall. With Kurt's help, the bed reluctantly dragged across the floor.

The blood stain pooled into a perfect circle except for the part near the wall, where it looked like something had been dragged towards the air vent at the wall's base. The vent was large, large enough for a person to crawl around in. Blaine pulled out a flashlight and knelt down, careful not to step on the blood. Kurt began unscrewing the other side of the vent. Once the grate was removed, Blaine turned the flashlight on and peered inside.

"There's more blood in here. Also…" Blaine reached inside and pulled out a clump of matted brown hair.

"Jenny's?" Kurt asked with a sick feeling in his stomach.

Blaine nodded and sighed. "Probably." He shined the flashlight around the inside of the vent one more time before standing up. "Ok. So we can be reasonably certain that we're dealing with an actual creature and not a ghost."

"Oh? And why's that?" Kurt said dryly.

"Because not many ghosts kidnap people. I've only heard of few. Plus, this neighborhood is only fifteen years old. The McGallaghers are the first owners. There shouldn't be any ghosts here yet. I research!" He said defensively at Kurt's raised eyebrow. "Just because I fell asleep the last time doesn't mean I always fall asleep!" Kurt merely gazed at him with a small smile. "Oh shut up."

Outside the house, they found more blood smears around the air conditioner unit, and again just inside the sewer grate in front of the house. Kurt groaned at the sight.

"I hate sewers." He scowled.

Gables's library was huge. Their fantasy/supernatural section took up an entire aisle and was filled to the brim with books on every creature imaginable. The books, however, were caked in a layer of dust so thick Kurt swore he was getting asthma just looking at them. He finally grabbed a thick volume titled Legends of Russia and lugged it back to the table he and Blaine shared. They had been researching for two hours and neither had much to show for it.

At least Blaine got the laptop. No fifty-pound books with potential diseases for him. When Kurt told Blaine this, though, he got a snort in return.

"At least books have proper punctuation and grammar." Blaine glared at his screen. "Kurt, do you have any idea how many boogeyman legends there are?"

"Vaguely," Kurt muttered, thinking of all the books he had looked at during this study session.

Blaine ignored that remark. "Hundreds. There's one for every damn culture. And every one is different. In Chile, he walks around in broad daylight and snatches kids off the streets. In the Netherlands, he delivers presents but takes the bad kids away. Sometimes he hides in closets and under beds, sometimes he's a green fog, and sometimes he gives people warts. I mean seriously," Blaine crossed his arms and leaned back into his chair moodily. "What the hell."

"The kids did mention Jenny calling him a buka. And we know that's Russian. We can start there." Kurt began flipping through his book. The yellowed pages gave off a musty smell. He finally found the page on buka. It was short. And unhelpful.

The buka is the Russian equivalent to the American "boogeyman." It is a creature that takes the shape of an old man that takes away naughty children in a large sack. It hides in closets and underneath beds, waiting to take its victims once night falls. Mothers threaten misbehaving children with a visit from the buka, which usually remedies the situation quite well.

Kurt shut the book with a slam. "Well thank you very fucking much, Vladimir." Kurt scowled at the author's name. "Blaine, if this thing is the boogeyman, how are we going to kill it? I can't find anything."

"I have no idea. There's nothing on killing boogeymen on any sites I've seen. Everything only describes them." Blaine rubbed his eyes. "Maybe it's just a normal creature where I can just shoot it and not worry about needing a blade made out of brass and stabbing it exactly seven times."

Kurt blinked. "There are creatures that can only be killed with a brass blade and seven stabs?"

Blaine chuckled at that. "Kurt, baby, you have no idea."

"Guess I don't," Kurt mused, picking up his book with a grunt. "Also," he glared at Blaine. "Don't call me 'baby.' At least not yet."

Blaine didn't fistpump the second Kurt turned his back. No way.

By now, Kurt had learned not to wear designer anything while one the job. He was currently covered in sewer grime and muck and hated it. There was no way Blaine was getting the shower first after this. No way.

He wiped his bangs off his sweaty forehead. "Blaine. It's dark and gross in here. Shouldn't we just call this off and go to bed and look in the morning?" He dodged a particularly large drip of green water. The flashlight wavered in his hands as Kurt struggled to balance both the flashlight and the gun which, against his better judgment, Blaine had allowed Kurt to carry. It was a small handgun, nothing like the sawed-off shotguns Blaine seemed to favor, but it felt powerful in Kurt's hands.

Though that might be because Blaine didn't let Kurt near his guns. Ever. Stupid Blaine.

"No. It's best to strike now, before he realizes we're on to him." Blaine whispered back. He trained his light on the ground, straining to see the faint blood trail they had been following since the McGallagher's through the moss and dank puddles. "Come on. This way." He led Kurt down yet another tunnel that was just as dark and rotten-smelling as the last.

Kurt glanced up at the few grates he passed. Stars winked back through the bars.

"Also it's supposed to rain tonight and I don't want to lose this trail." Blaine called over his shoulder, voice just below conversation level.

Kurt looked back up at the sky. No stars this time. Well, shit.

"Blaine Anderson, if it rains on us while we are in the sewers, I am going to kill you." Kurt hissed at Blaine's back. "I mean it. I'll…I'll shave your eyebrows. And straighten your hair. And steal every left sock you own."

He saw Blaine's shoulders shake with laughter at that last threat. "Well, I'm terrified now," Blaine snorted, goofily grinning at Kurt.

"We'll see who's laughing when you get blisters on your sockless feet," Kurt muttered darkly. A faint rustle caught his attention. "Blaine, did you hear that?" He stepped closer to his friend.

"Hear what?"

"A rustle. I heard fabric rustling."

To Blaine's credit, he didn't question Kurt. Instead he stuffed the flashlight back in an inner coat pocket so he could operate the shotgun with two hands. "Kurt, you're gonna have to be my light. Keep it steady and aimed ahead or at the noise." He didn't complain when Kurt pressed up against his back. Not at all.

There was an intersection just ahead. The flashlight illuminated about fifteen feet ahead before the light faded into the darkness. The boys tried to keep their steps silent as they crept up the tunnel. Blaine motioned for Kurt to cover the light and stopped next to the intersection's corner. Kurt could still hear faint footsteps, but couldn't tell which direction they were coming from.

"On three, shine the light down the left tunnel. You ready?" Blaine whispered.

Kurt nodded before he remembered Blaine couldn't see him in the gloom. "Yeah," Kurt breathed.

"Alright. One. Two." Blaine adjusted his grip. "THREE!"

As they burst around the corner Kurt squeezed his eyes shut, expecting to hear gunshots. Instead, Blaine just yelled in shock.

"Santana! What the fuck are you doing here?" Blaine sounded almost angry.

Cautiously opening his eyes, Kurt saw a small Latino girl about their age with long black hair and dark eyes. She was dressed like a female version of Blaine: a brown leather jacket, worn jeans, a tight t-shirt. She also carried firepower, though her weapon of choice was a handgun as opposed to a shotgun. The girl smirked at Blaine before scanning Kurt. He wished he looked more badass. Or intimidating. Kurt had a feeling showing weakness in front of this chick was a bad idea.

"New boytoy?" Santana kept smirking as she lowered her gun, holding out her arms.

"Uh, first of all, that's none of your business," Blaine grinned before giving her a tight hug. "Second, no, he's just a friend. Kurt Hummel." Blaine gestured towards Kurt.

Kurt smiled weakly. "Hey," he said.

With the pleasantries out of the way, Kurt found out that Santana Lopez was another hunter that had grown up with Blaine. She was pleasant enough, if a bit crude, but she seemed to like him. The girl told Blaine he had good taste at least, though Blaine just blushed and muttered something about a lack of privacy.

Santana came to Gables for the same reason as Kurt and Blaine: to investigate supernatural doings. She, however, had looked at an earlier disappearance than Jenny's. Brendan Latch vanished two days before Jenny Smith, but had been listed as a suspected runaway due to his constant rebellion. He was only fourteen. He was also Santana's cousin. She sniffed at Kurt's sympathies.

"I don't need your 'sorries. She said shortly. Blaine put his hand on Kurt's shoulder and silently motioned for Kurt to let it go. Santana took the lead, with Kurt following and Blaine bringing up the rear. The silence stretched on, punctuated only by splashes when one of them walked through a puddle. Kurt couldn't take it anymore.

"So how did you and Blaine meet?" he suddenly asked before cringing inwardly. Tactful, Hummel, he thought ruefully.

Blaine answered first. "We've known each other since we were 10. Our parents decided to team up against a werewolf, and we were left in a shared motel room for a few days while everything went down." He smiled sheepishly at Kurt's shocked face, instantly reading the unasked questions. "Yes, there are werewolves. They are vicious and dangerous though, so hopefully we won't run into any. And don't worry about our childhood. It really wasn't that bad."

It was getting creepy (yet strangely comforting) how well Blaine could read Kurt. Shit, he's gonna know all of my secrets in like a week at this rate. Outwardly, Kurt just shrugged, and continued scanning the flashlight around the walls, looking for hints of the blood trail they were tracking.

Santana had been listening. She smirked when she turned around. "That's it, Blaine? That's all you're telling him?" Kurt saw Blaine flush a deep red. Oh this could be interesting.

"Santana, please no…" Blaine mumbled helplessly.

She had other plans. Turning to Kurt, Santana's smirk widened. "Blainey over there and I have had many adventures. Our parents were very good friends. We were left alone together a lot." She put enough emphasis on that last word to make Kurt slightly nervous. He chanced a glance at Blaine, who looked resigned. "Soooo many juicy stories to pick from. What do you think Blaine? Maybe the time you almost burned the room down making toast? Or when you shot your foot and I had to drive a stolen car to the hospital? Or maybe when I helped you figure out that you were gay—"

"Please stop!" Blaine blurted out, cheeks burning. "Kurt doesn't need or want," He shot a pleading glance at a snickering Kurt. "To hear about that. Any of that."

Santana winked at Kurt. "You'll be getting full details when Hobbit Boy stops being such a stick in the mud." Kurt raised an eyebrow. Blaine resolutely ignored them, preferring to mope instead. He examined the walls.

"Wait, Blaine, move the flashlight back." Kurt interrupted Blaine's sulk. Blaine glanced at Kurt, but did as he asked. "There. On the ladder. Is that blood?"

Blaine examined the dark spot on the third rung, dipping his finger in it. When he pulled it away, the tip was stained a dark red. "Yeah, looks like."

"I can't find the trail," Santana called from up ahead. She stood up from where she had crouched down, stretching. "Ugh. I'm tired. And feel disgusting. Let's go back to the motel and eat and shower."

Kurt eagerly nodded at her words. Blaine looked like he was about ready to protest, so Kurt put on his best pleading face. It worked like a charm. He could just see Blaine's resolve crack.

"Fine." He sighed. "We can leave this for tomorrow." Blaine felt inside his pocket for his phone. "It's getting late anyway," he said absently, checking the time before stowing the phone. "Might as well walk back outside. I'm sick of the sewers."

As the three climbed the ladder to the outside world, none of them noticed the matchbook from the motel fall out of Blaine's pocket.

Blaine and Kurt soon found out that when Santana said "let's go back to the motel" she meant "let's go back to your motel and your room because I'm staying with you guys instead of getting my own space."

There were times Blaine kind of hated his childhood best friend.

He absently plucked at the strings of his new guitar. Kurt watched from the other bed, but stayed quiet. Santana was taking forever in the shower. Blaine glared at the closed bathroom door, silently wishing her hell for making Kurt sit in sewer filth for so long (Blaine won their rock-paper-scissors game earlier and so had been the first to test out the crappy shower). Surprisingly, Kurt was being gracious about the grime, which was a welcome change from the first week on the road. When Blaine mentioned this fact, Kurt only sniffed and said that one could get used to anything, including wading through shit when one fought ghosts on a daily basis. Blaine couldn't really argue with that.

"Play me something." Kurt demanded, then looked surprised and blushed when he realized what he said. Blaine loved watching Kurt blush. It was adorable.

Well, he couldn't leave Kurt hanging, could he? Blaine grinned when a song popped into his head. It was perfect. He scooted back on the bed and crossed his legs so he was more comfortable and let his fingers pick out the melody.

He saw Kurt roll his eyes when he recognized the tune, but Kurt was smiling, so Blaine figured it was a good sign.

"You think I'm pretty without any makeup on,

You think I'm funny when I tell the punch line wrong,

I know you get me, so I let my walls come down, down,"

Blaine danced as best he could while sitting on the bed, grinning at the huge smile on Kurt's face. Seriously, it could light up the world. Blaine wondered if anyone had ever sung to Kurt like this. Sure, Kurt said Jesse was a theater major, but he seemed like the kind of guy that sang at someone, not to someone. He bet the douchebag had used Kurt to practice on. He made an artistic decision. Pausing long enough to get the guitar strap over his head, Blaine jumped up and began to really dance.

If this didn't scare Kurt away, nothing would. But Blaine hoped Kurt would appreciate his silliness. He didn't stop smiling when Blaine leapt on the bed and began rocking out (as best he could to Katy Perry, that is).

"Let you put your hands on me in my skintight jeans, be your teenage dream tonight." Blaine finished with a flourish, dropping to his knees in front of Kurt. He was aware he had his puppy-looking-for-approval face on (Santana had named it), but Kurt just laughed and clapped.

"You weren't kidding about Katy Perry, were you?" He teased.

Blaine scoffed and sat back on the other bed. "I would never kid about Ms. Perry," he said in a scandalized voice. "But anyway, did you like it? That was the first time I tried playing that song and I think I was off on the timing…" he trailed off when he saw Santana in the doorway. She evidently had finished her shower and was in a tank top (tight, of course) and sweatpants. She waved her hand dismissively.

"No, by all means, keep serenading your boyfriend." Again with the smirk.

Santana was keeping score of how many times she could make him blush, Blaine was sure of it. He purposely avoided Kurt's eyes as he put the guitar back inside its case. It was the wrong move, Blaine realized, when Kurt's shoulders stiffened.

"I'm taking a shower now." Kurt said stiffly, stalking off to the bathroom and shutting the door hard. Blaine winced. He'd have to do damage control later. Preferably when Santana leaves.

Speaking of the psychotic girl, Blaine glared at her. "Could you like, not try to embarrass Kurt at every opportunity? It's rude, and I'm sick of it." He paused. "How's Brittany?" Blaine asked hesitantly.

Santana narrowed her eyes. "We're not talking about Britt. We're talking about Kurt." She finally said in clipped tones. "He's hot; you like him, so just tap that so you can leave him and move on."

Blaine stared at the Latino girl for a few seconds. She wrapped her arms around herself and looked at her feet. Growing up, Santana had been one of Blaine's only friends that knew the truth about his life. Days of being trapped in various schools and motels with her meant Blaine could tell when Santana was hurting. He decided to try to be diplomatic.

"I'm going to ignore what you said about Kurt because you're right, I do like him. A lot. And I want to keep travelling with him. He doesn't deserve to be fucked and dumped like some cheap whore." Santana stiffened at his words, but strangely stayed quiet. Blaine sighed to himself, and walked over to put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry about Brittany though," Blaine said softly.

Wiping away a stray tear, Santana sniffed. "It's fine. She's found someone else. Some cripple in a wheelchair. They're living together now and she's happy. She's safe." She said bitterly.

Blaine hugged her. "If you want to talk about it, I'll listen. But please leave Kurt alone. He's gone through a rough time and doesn't need a relationship now. He's…he's not Brittany."

"You need to be careful, Blaine. This job does not bode well for couples. Or 'friendships, Santana corrected herself at Blaine's disapproval.

"I'll deal with it. Kurt chose this life. And not for some crush. He had a real reason, otherwise I'd have left him back in Ohio." Blaine met her glare evenly. Santana realized it was a lost cause.

She flopped down on one of the beds. "I don't share." She stated. Then turned over and pulled the covers up.

Well fuck. Blaine groaned to himself. They didn't have any extra covers or pillows so Blaine would have to convince Kurt to sleep in the same bad as him or he'd have to sleep in the car again. And Kurt was probably still pissed at him. Dude could hold a grudge. Goddammit, Santana.

He sat back on the open bed and began leafing through an old book on Russian folklore while he waited for Kurt to finish showering.

Blaine was right, of course. Kurt was pissed.

Not that he expected Blaine to suddenly profess his love or anything.

And not that Kurt was ready for a relationship yet.

But still. Being ignored like that was insulting.

He savagely yanked on his boxers and t-shirt, before lightly toweling his hair dry. Kurt glanced at his bag of lotions and skin-care products before deciding that fuck it, he was too tired and too annoyed to bother. Brushing his teeth, however, he would do. Because dental hygiene was important even if he was a hunter.

After brushing his teeth and folding the towel, Kurt stepped back into the room. And groaned.

Santana was asleep in one the beds and had claimed the entire thing. Arms and legs spread out, leaving no room.

Blaine was reading in the other. When he noticed Kurt, though, he winced and stood up, looking sheepish. Kurt decided on the silent treatment.

He crossed his arms and glanced at the bed pointedly, silently demanding Blaine explain the situation.

Kurt was pleased to see Blaine looked uncomfortable. Revenge was sweet. Blaine swallowed uncomfortably.

"Look, I know you're angry, and you have a right to be; I was being a total dick earlier by letting Santana get to me," Blaine faltered a little under Kurt's cold gaze, but soldiered on. "But I'm really, really sorry. And, um," he gestured towards the bed. "We kind of only have one bed, 'cause Santana doesn't share ever, but if you're still mad I can sleep in the car, but if not can we please share, 'cause it's really fucking cold outside?" This was all said very fast and with a great deal of nervousness, and Kurt had to try very hard not to smile at Blaine's hopeful face. He instead put on an unimpressed face. It lasted about five seconds.

"Fine. I forgive you. Sort of." Kurt gave Blaine a crooked smile and walked past him to the bed. As he slid under the covers, he didn't notice Blaine fist pump happily. A few minutes later, Kurt felt the bed dip next to him and Blaine got in.

"Um, I know this is kind of weird to ask, but can I um, hold you?"

Kurt's eyes flew open at that. Well. That was unexpected. He turned over to stare at Blaine, who was shifting uncomfortably. What the hell was Blaine thinking?

"I-I just like to hold on to things when I sleep." Blaine looked miserable as he stammered out an explanation. Kurt had noticed this quirk. Every time Blaine slept, he cuddled either an extra pillow or a book or a blanket. Pretty much anything he could get his hands on. And as Kurt took up half the bed, there wasn't much else for Blaine to hold. Actually, the thought of Blaine's warm arms around him was really nice. Jesse never cuddled. Or sang to him. And goddamn it, Kurt was going to have to stop comparing Blaine to Jesse because those thoughts could go nowhere good.

In the meantime, though, Kurt really wanted to cuddle with Blaine. So fuck boundaries.

"Yeah. You can." Kurt's mouth twitched at Blaine's huge and relieved smile. "But first I want to ask you some things." Blaine's smile fell. Kurt thought about how to approach the subject most delicately. "Who is Brittany?"

Blaine sighed. "You heard our conversation earlier, huh?"

"No. Not all of it. Just the beginning."

"Well," Blaine lifted his head slightly to glance at Santana's sleeping form. She seemed asleep, at least. "Santana and Brittany were lovers."

Kurt eyes widened. "So Santana is—"

"Yeah. And she really cared about Britt. Like, a lot. She'd have died for her. But…" Blaine looked away from Kurt, but began stroking his hand. "They…they were hunting a werewolf in Montana. And it went bad. Really bad. For a while, we didn't think Brittany would make it. And when she did pull through, Santana knew that it was too dangerous for Britt to stay with her. So she left." Blaine closed his eyes at Kurt's gasp. Kurt squeezed his hand.

"Santana just left the girl she loved?" Kurt tried not to get angry. He really did.

Blaine finally dragged his eyes back up to meet Kurt's. "Kurt, you don't understand. This job; this life, is lethal to a lot of hunters. Most barely live past their forties. And couples never survive together for long. By leaving, Santana probably saved Brittany's life."

"That's bullshit." Kurt snapped, yanking his hand out of Blaine's and turning his back. He glared at Santana's sheet-covered back. Blaine was softly calling his name, but Kurt ignored him. When Blaine snuck an arm around Kurt's waist, though, Kurt didn't protest.

"Kurt…" Blaine said sadly, gently pulling the boy into a one-armed hug. He was a little taken aback when Kurt suddenly turned over and fiercely glared at him.

"Don't you ever do that to me." Kurt's blue eyes flashed. "Don't leave me like that. I am an adult and fully capable of making my own decisions. I know this life is dangerous, but I'm willing to accept the risks. If you decide that you hate me and want to split up and go our separate ways, fine. But you tell me to my face and give me a chance to change your mind." Kurt's voice got harsher. "But don't abandon me. Too many people have left me in the past, and I can't go through it again." Fuck, Kurt hated crying in front of Blaine. But the tears forced their way out. "Just…please, Blaine." He whispered brokenly. "Please don't leave me like that." He buried his face in Blaine's shoulder.

Blaine didn't speak for a long time, just holding onto Kurt and rubbing comforting circles on his back. Kurt's mom died when he was little, his father just died, his former boyfriend cheated on him, and God knew what else life had thrown at this poor kid. Blaine wondered if he could deal with Kurt getting hurt because of the job. Because of him. But…Blaine also wondered if Kurt could handle Blaine walking away. Ah, decisions…

"I won't. I promise." Blaine finally whispered.

Hours later, Kurt bolted upright, a scream dying in his throat. Next to him Blaine jerked awake, a gun mysteriously appearing in his hand.

"What-what's wrong? What's goin' on?" Blaine asked, still pointing the gun in every direction. He had a hand on Kurt's chest as if he was trying to shield his friend from some unknown attacker.

Kurt sighed and fell back, chest heaving as he tried to calm down. "Just a nightmare, Blaine. Go back to sleep." He laid on the bed while he waited for his breathing to return to normal. "Wait, you sleep with a gun under your pillow?" he stared at Blaine.

"Um. I like to be prepared?" Blaine offered sheepishly.

Kurt rolled his eyes. He glanced at the clock on the nightstand between the two beds. The digital display read 4:06. Spectacular. Kurt closed his eyes. It had been a horrible dream. At least, the parts he remembered. Something about being alone; everyone he knew dead and what-not. But he woke up next to Blaine. There was that. And he had to pee. "Go to sleep, Blaine."

Blaine didn't seem to be relaxing. "You sure?" he slowly lowered the gun when Kurt rolled his eyes and nodded.

Flinging back the covers, Kurt got up and groaned as his muscle protested the movement. "Gonna go to the bathroom." he said. Kurt shuffled his way across the room. Once inside the tiny bathroom, he waved at Blaine and shut the door.

Somehow, Santana was still asleep. Blaine envied her. He could rarely sleep all the way through the night. But for some reason, holding Kurt felt great. He'd slept better than he had for a long time.

Until Kurt woke up screaming.

Blaine shivered. That had been the scariest thing he'd ever heard. It was so full of terror and fear and heartbreak. That dream must have been awful.

While he waited for Kurt, Blaine stared at the darkened ceiling and thought about how scared Kurt had been before they fell asleep. Kurt hadn't believed Blaine at first, but after repeated promises that Blaine would at least have the balls to confront Kurt before running away, he'd finally drifted off. Blaine had a sneaking suspicion he knew what the nightmare was about.

Where the hell was Kurt?

Just as that though crossed his mind, a scream and crash shattered the silence. Santana woke at that one.

"Wazzat?" she sleepily mumbled, but Blaine was already out of bed and at the bathroom door; gun in hand.

"Kurt!" Blaine jiggled the door handle, but it was locked. Growling, he tensed his shoulders and hit the door dead on. It shook a little but stayed closed. Judging by the noises, Kurt was putting up a hell of fight. Blaine hit the door again.

"Blaine, help!"

He must have taken a break from fighting because Blaine heard the lock click open. Almost at the same time, however, Kurt's yell was cut off with a sickening crunch. Blaine's stomach dropped about thirty feet.

"No! Kurt!" Blaine shoved the door open into a destroyed bathroom.

The mirror was shattered. Glass shards covered the floor, a few tiles were broken and the toilet seat lid was cracked. The worst was the blood. The red liquid was spread on the floor and counters, with a small patch on the seat lid. Blaine noticed all this later, though. Right now, he was focused on a dirty old man with a large patched sack sitting on the bathroom windowsill. The window was open, and a slight breeze moved the old man's long beard. They stood frozen, staring at each other. Until the old man smiled, revealing his blacked stumps and crinkling his red eyes. Blaine's eyes slid to the bag, which was very still though it had a dark growing stain near the bottom.

Kurt…

As soon as Blaine took a step forward, though, the old man giggled and toppled out the window, the bag following. Blaine turned and rushed out of the room to the door, pushing aside Santana, who had been standing behind him. He ran outside just in time to see the sewer lid in front of the motel clank shut.

"NO!" Blaine shouted. He dug his fingers under the grimy edge of the lid, fully intending to follow Kurt. A hand stopped him.

"Blaine, wait. You need to calm down and think." Santana's level voice only infuriated him.

"Fuck that. I'm going after him right now." Blaine tried to shrug off Santana's hands, but she was being annoyingly clingy. "Santana! Let me go!" He glared at her, chest heaving.

She stubbornly shook her head. "No. You need to relax. If you charge in all hotheaded, you're going to get him killed." Blaine instantly shut up at that. "You also need shoes. Running after the boogeyman in the sewers without shoes is a fucking stupid idea." Santana yanked him upright and started pushing Blaine back inside. Once she got Blaine to sit down, she shoved a book at his chest and tossed over some clothes and his shoes.

Blaine fought back tears while he changed. When he turned around, Santana was ready to go. He took a deep shuddery breath.

"What if we're too late?" he whispered.

Santana shook her head, dark eyes cold. "We're going to get him back." She said determinedly. "I like Hummel. No one is going to hurt him while I'm around. We're going to get him back. We're going to get both of them back."

Blaine nodded. He was not going to let Kurt die on him.

Waking up on the ground sucked.

Actually no, waking up on the rocky ground with a pounding headache sucked. Kurt groaned and brought a hand up to his aching head, wincing at the touch. His head felt sore and swollen and sticky. Awesome.

He finally forced open his eyes. Yep, his fingers were coated in blood. Which meant his hair was too and that was just not ok. Kurt still took pride in his hair, and blood would take forever to get out. He tried to sit up, groaning at the sudden pain in his temple. Holy hell, he had hit his head on something.

"Woah, take your time, man," a voice near his right said. Kurt felt hands help lift his shoulders until he was leaning against the (very hard and very rocky) wall. There wasn't much light in whatever they were in (some kind of rocky pit inside a cave?), but Kurt could see his helper was a young boy in his teens. He looked vaguely Latino.

Kurt started at the connection. "Oh! You're… you're Brendan, right? Brendan Latch? Santana Lopez's cousin?"

The boy nodded grimly. He wiped at Kurt's forehead with a damp cloth, probably from the small puddle Kurt could see on the other side of the pit. "He really got you good, didn't he?" Brendan whistled softly as the rag slowly got redder and redder.

Kurt snorted. His memory was coming back. "He took me in the bathroom. I hit the mirror first, got in a few good punches, but when I tried to get out he slammed me into the toilet." Kurt took the cloth and continued to clean his face and neck as best he could. The blood had dripped all the way down into his collar and felt gross. Brendan sat back on his heels. "Don't remember much after that. How long have I been out?"

"Couple hours," Brendan said. He hung his head and peered cautiously at Kurt through his thick eyelashes. "You know Santana? Is she coming to save us from the boogeyman?" he asked hopefully.

Ah. So it really was the boogeyman. Kurt scowled at his feet. Just once, it'd be nice if he didn't need rescuing. But whatever. That boogeyman was going to get it now. Blaine's probably pissed and if Santana wasn't on the warpath before, she certainly would be now.

At least, Kurt hoped so.

"Of course." He said aloud, ignoring the way his gut twisted nervously. He stood up and began exploring their prison, running his hands along the walls. "My…friend is with her. Between the two of them, we'll get out of this." Kurt glared at the rock. It was damp and cool and while not smooth, offered no footholds. The pit was about ten feet across and the walls rose almost twenty, so lifting Brendan up was useless. They couldn't climb out. The light was growing a little, but was still faint and grey. Kurt guessed that it was probably dawn light coming in through the unseen cave entrance. Giving up on an escape plan, Kurt finally really looked at Brendan.

The boy was small and thin, with tan skin and dark hair. His eyes were sunken and tired, yet his body was twitchy, as if he expected a blow at any moment. The dirt-stained and torn clothes hung off his body as if the boy had lost weight in the past few days. Kurt wondered if he'd eaten since being thrown down here. Brendan shifted under Kurt's gaze, sniffling slightly. Kurt's face softened. Holy shit, but this was just a kid. He should be at home; eating a hearty meal and complaining about homework, not huddling in a cold, dank cave waiting for the boogeyman.

"Hey, hey no, it's ok, it's ok," Kurt walked towards him and placed his hands on Brendan's shoulders. "Blaine and Santana are coming for us. They won't leave us. Ok?" Kurt hugged the kid hesitantly, stumbling a bit at the force of Brendan throwing his arms around him. "Shh." Kurt smoothed his dark, matted hair. "We're going to be alright. I promise." They stood like that for a while, until Brendan stopped sobbing out all the fear and terror of the past few days.

"He wants us to be afraid." Brendan mumbled into Kurt's shirt.

Kurt frowned at that. "Afraid?"

Brendan nodded. "He feeds off of fear. He's going to keep us down here while he looks for other kids. He wants us to be scared so when he comes back he can snack. Like a buffet." Brendan said all this as if it were obvious. His voice dropped. "Sometimes…he throws snakes down here. Or big rats. And there's nowhere to go so we have to face them and he just stands up there and laughs…" Brendan was shuddering violently. "I hate rats."

Kurt noticed the rat carcass by the water puddle earlier, but hadn't mentioned it. Guess I know what it's from now, he thought, forcing down a gag.

More importantly though, he had to calm Brendan down. Because feeding the boogeyman a steady dose of terror would be counterproductive, right? Kurt tipped Brendan's chin up so he was looking at Kurt's face.

"So the boogeyman sat up there and told you all about his nefarious plans, right?" Kurt said with a smile.

Confused, Brendan nodded slowly. "Well, yeah."

Perfect. "Well then, he just made evil villain mistake number one," Kurt grinned mischievously. "Which is 'never tell your arch nemesis your nefarious plans.' See, now he's guaranteed to fail. As seen in ever Bond movie ever." Kurt's dad was a James Bond fiend and had every movie ever made about the British secret agent. Kurt had been forced to sit through all those movies multiple times and was fairly certain he could recite the script of Goldfinger by heart.

But Brendan still looked confused. Damn kids.

"You've never seen James Bond? 'The name is Bond. James Bond. Kurt imitated a passable Sean Connery impression. "No? Well then you'll have to just take my word for it." He smiled reassuringly and sat back down against the wall. Brendan joined him.

"The bad guys always lose in James Bond movies?" he asked.

"Always."

"And Santana is coming to get me?"

"Definitely."

"Ok." Brendan bit his lip. "I'm going to try to be less afraid and make him weak." He said with confidence.

Kurt smiled again. "Sounds like a plan." He leaned back and closed his eyes, hoping Blaine would find them before the boogeyman came back. Just sitting around waiting to be rescued was insanely boring though, and Kurt wished there was something he could do.

If only he could climb the walls.

Stifled laughter startled Kurt out of his musings. It was bone-chilling and made Kurt think of horrible things, like spiders and snakes and ruined designer shirts. Reluctantly, Kurt opened eyes and looked up. Peering over the edge of the pit was the old man—the boogeyman.

Brendan tensed next to Kurt. "He's back," he whispered.

"Obviously." Kurt said dryly, glaring up at the creature. No way was he going to let him (it?) sense fear.

The boogeyman giggled again and leapt into the pit, landing gracefully. The cave was brighter now, so Kurt could see him clearly. Unfortunately. The boogeyman looked like an ancient man, but was tall, about six feet. He had dirty, ragged clothes, a long beard, a huge hooked nose and red eyes that glittered with malice. His arms ended in long fingers that resembled claws.

Kurt stood up, pulling Brendan up with him. He met the boogeyman's stare evenly, holding his head high and proud.

"I'm not afraid of you." Kurt declared. The boogeyman said nothing at first, but his eyes roamed towards Brendan, who whimpered and ducked behind Kurt. This was such bullshit. Kurt found that getting angry meant he was less scared, so he gave in. "You're pathetic," Kurt sneered. "Seriously, an old man disguise? That's so clich�. My cousin's stuffed animals inspire more fear than you. Go crawl back in your hole, grandpa." By the end Kurt was feeling rather proud of himself for not huddling on the floor and bawling. He could totally handle this thing.

The feeling faded somewhat when he was shoved up against the wall, the boogeyman's fingers wrapped around his throat.

Well, shit.

The boogeyman leaned in close, his hot and rancid breath washing over Kurt's face. "I take children because they scare more easily," he said while Kurt choked and gagged. His grip was like iron. "But adults," he sniffed Kurt's face deeply, "Adults taste oh so much better. Because with children; they always have a little spark of hope until the very end. Only with adults do I get to taste true despair." He flicked out a wet black tongue over Kurt's ear.

Kurt shuddered violently and whimpered, before gathering his senses and punching the boogeyman's face. He felt a satisfying crack under his fist, and the pressure on his throat was instantly released while the boogeyman clutched his nose and howled. Kurt collapsed on the ground, coughing and trying to draw in a deep breath. He noticed with satisfaction that the boogeyman's face was covered in a dark thick substance that was pouring out of his broken nose. So it bled. Which meant it could die.

Finally straightening up, the boogeyman shot a look full of hate at Kurt. He marched over to Brendan and grabbed the boy's shirt front, lifting him up to his face. Brendan was practically crying. Before Kurt could protest, the boogeyman began sucking.

Kurt watched in horrified fascination as Brendan shook in the boogeyman's grip. A blue smoky substance drifted out of Brendan's nose and mouth, only to be drawn in by the creature's mouth. After a few minutes, he tossed Brendan at Kurt, who barely managed to catch the teenager. The boogeyman grinned maliciously at Kurt, his nose healed. He leapt out of the pit and disappeared over the edge, leaving Kurt to stare open-mouthed at the ceiling.

Well, shit.

Blaine Anderson was freaking out.

Kurt had been missing for six hours-six full hours, in which Blaine had explored almost the entire sewer system (and found nothing—it had rained the night before like he'd predicted), had checked and rechecked the county and the next county's missing persons reports (the only people missing was Brendan Latch and Jenny Smith), and had paced up and down the motel room until Santana finally shouted at him to quit moving because he was making her nervous.

Where the hell could Kurt be?

He sat on his bed, one leg shaking and his head in his hands while he racked his brains. Santana was reading every book she could find on boogeymen and bukas.

What if he was too late? What if Kurt was already dead? Blaine let out a whimper at that thought. No. Kurt was not dead. That was too horrible to even contemplate. No, Blaine was going to figure out where his best friend could possibly be trapped. Alright, alright. Think, Anderson. The buka takes its victims to a cave and does…something. No one knows. Takes them to a cave. So the sewers? He at least uses the sewers; we know that for a fact. I explored most of them this morning and there was nothing at all. So what does that mean? Blaine's eyes flew open. Oh my God. Of course. He uses the sewers to travel. It can't be its hiding place. If the sewers are its road and no one else was missing since yesterday then… "I know where Kurt is." Blaine breathed.

"What?" Santana said absently, turning another musty page.

"Kurt. I know where he has to be." Blaine suddenly grinned. He jumped up and stole his laptop from Santana (closing her porn tabs—he definitely needed to talk to her about watching that on his laptop), bringing up a map of Gables. "I was thinking. The sewers aren't where the boogeyman hides. It's where he travels. So Kurt can't be in the sewers."

Santana was blinking slowly. "Ok…so? That still doesn't help us."

Blaine was almost bouncing with excitement. "But it does! Remember that blood Kurt found on that ladder right before you lost the trail? No one was reported missing so—"

"—So that's where the boogeyman exited." Santana finished, shocked. "It's so brilliant."

"But that's not all." Blaine shoved the laptop at Santana. "Look, right here where the blood was found yesterday? It's on the outskirts of town. Not far from the cliffs. And those cliffs used be a source of gold, which means…"

By now Santana was completely on Blaine's page. "Mines. Kurt and Brendan and Jenny must be in those mines." She looked at the map again. The area looked huge. It was going to take several hours to explore. Hopefully Kurt Hummel was made out of tougher material than he looked. "Blaine. How are we going to kill the boogeyman when we find him though?"

At this, Blaine faltered for a second. He recovered quickly though. "I'm going to blow his head off." Blaine said calmly, cradling his beloved shot gun.

Santana shrugged. "Should slow him down at least."

For some reason, luck was with them.

When Blaine and Santana entered the sixth cave of the day, around dinnertime, they knew. Barely ten feet in, they heard voices: one a thin teenage boy's; another higher pitched though still male.

Abandoning all caution, Blaine flat out ran into the dark, flashlight waving wildly and Santana cursing loudly.

"Kurt! Kurt!" Blaine called. His heart was thumping. Oh please God let Kurt be ok.

A voice answered his pleas. "Oh my God! Blaine! We're down here!"

Blaine stopped himself just before falling into the giant pit. He dropped to his knees, shining the light into the hole. It lit on a small, dark-haired, scrawny teenage boy and—looking rather dirty and not at all put together like usual—Kurt. He almost cried in relief.

"You're alive. Awesome." Blaine laughed breathlessly. "Ok. You're Brendan, right?" Blaine shined the light on the boy who nodded nervously. "Ok. Ok. Um." Blaine tried to think, to focus on how the hell he and Santana were going to get the two boys out. Neither had though to bring rope, so one of them would have to go back to the car. "Hey, Santana?" Blaine called, but caught sight of her examining a lump of…something.

Once the flashlight's beam was on it, Blaine recognized the lump as the rotting body of a girl with long hair. So that's why there was a funky smell in here.

"Jenny." Santana said simply, walking away from the body. "Hey Brendan. Been a long time."

Brendan grinned up at her. "I knew you'd come for me." He said happily.

It was a very sweet reunion, but a bad feeling was poking at Blaine's gut. They had no idea where the boogeyman was or even how to kill it. Also there was the whole question of why Jenny was dead but Kurt and Brendan were still alive.

"Look, Kurt I know this is a bad time, but is there anything you can tell us about what we're dealing with?" Blaine finally asked, wincing at how worried he sounded. Kurt didn't seem to notice though.

"Yeah. The boogeyman feeds off of fear, which is why he left us here. I think Jenny was an accident. He meant to take the twins but accidentally killed her instead." Kurt sounded confident, reciting the information without hesitation. Blaine was so, so thankful he could keep a level head in a dangerous situation. Memories of certain other companions that were not so calm flitted by. But Kurt was still talking. "Blaine. He can be hurt. I broke his nose earlier, but if he feeds, he heals. But the boogeyman bleeds." Kurt stood proudly at the bottom of a pit covered in grime. "Also, when we get out of this, I call the shower first this time." He smirked.

Blaine laughed, shaking his head. "Of course."

So the boogeyman could be hurt. That was good to know. The shotgun might have some use after all.

Santana stood. "I'm going to get rope from the car. Keep alert." She glanced at the pit before jogging out of the cave into the dusk. Blaine watched her go, but didn't leave the pit's edge. Letting Kurt and Brendan out of his sight seemed like a bad idea.

To keep Brendan calm while Santana was away, Kurt and Blaine kept up a steady conversation about neutral topics. Brendan talked about being on the soccer team, his favorite heavy metal band, and a girl named Sarah who he possibly maybe sort of had a crush on. Kurt was teasing him about her when Blaine heard the crunch of pebbles under a weight. It sounded too heavy for a small woman though.

"Santana?" He called out cautiously, tightening his grip on the shotgun. Kurt and Brendan instantly shut up. They stared up at Blaine's back with wide eyes.

A hard force slammed into Blaine's ribs. He gasped and fell back, twisting at the last second to avoid the pit. Blaine scrambled up quickly from the ground, pointing the flashlight around the cave wildly. The beam fell upon a tumble of what looked to be rags.

The pile moved—there were arms, legs, a dirty head attached. The old-man-creature bared he's sharp teeth and long claws at Blaine, growling. Oh, fuck. Blaine swallowed. Going against any monster without knowing precisely what killed it was nerve-racking for Blaine. He felt naked.

Also there was the fact that a shotgun was usually a two-handed weapon, which meant he would be forced to put down the flashlight. Which meant the boogeyman could hide in the shadows and attack from any angle.

Blaine shifted his weight from each foot, trying to be ready to dodge to either side. The boogeyman laughed a hoarse, amused laugh. Blaine dropped the flashlight, aimed the gun and fired. He knew he'd missed the instant the hammer fell. Damn, but that thing moved fast. Another punch, this one hit the side of his head and Blaine cried out in pain as the taste of blood filled his mouth. He tried to see into the dark, hoping for just a glance of the boogeyman. A hard shoe kicked his left leg and Blaine collapsed to the ground, groaning.

"Blaine!" Oh fuck oh fuck Kurt's still here. "Blaine! What's going on?" Blaine could hear the terror in Kurt's voice. Kurt's words from earlier came back.

'The boogeyman feeds on fear,' Kurt had said. Blaine felt his stomach drop. Then he cursed himself. Funny how being told not to be afraid of something usually makes you afraid of that something. The flashlight beam had fallen on the boogeyman. He crept up to Blaine, lips salivating. Holy shit, but he was big. And tall. The dark had hid him well.

Well, Blaine was well and truly terrified now. Blaine tried to scoot out of the away, but the boogeyman shot out a wrinkled but powerful arm and grabbed Blaine by the neck. His grip was loose enough to allow Blaine some air, but was like a vice. It wouldn't move, no matter how much Blaine scratched and struggled.

The boogeyman drew Blaine's face in close to him, sniffing Blaine deeply. Blaine watched his nose hairs move with his breath, slightly revolted. When the boogeyman opened his mouth to speak, Blaine gagged at the raw stench of decay and rot issuing from that wet hole.

"There are many types of fear," the boogeyman rasped, grinning evilly and showing off yellowed, rotted teeth. "Petty fear; nervous fear; fear for your life. But the best fear," he took another deep sniff of Blaine, who let out a noise of disgust. "The very best fear is the fear for someone else. For someone you love," The boogeyman began to giggle. He fixed Blaine with his deep red eyes.

Something was wrong. Blaine couldn't look away. A fog rose in his mind and his limbs became stiff. Fuckfuckfickshitfuck repeated over and over in Blaine's mind. Not having control of his body was awful. Blaine was vaguely aware of a blue glow around him and a sucking noise. He felt like he was in a dream. The fog in his mind grew thicker, before clearing slightly.

There was something in the fog. Blaine walked towards it, towards a humanoid black shape. He briefly wondered what happened to the cave, but that wasn't important right now. The shape was closer and more defined.

More familiar.

Blaine gasped when the shape stepped close enough for him to see the details.

"This is your fault," said Kurt. He was dead. His clothes were torn and dirty; his skin pale and grey; his blue eyes faded and cloudy. Deep gashes all over his body stood out bright red against Kurt's marble skin. Blaine felt like he was going to throw up.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"You killed me," the Kurt-thing intoned. His eyes were incredibly sad. "I thought you would save me, but you didn't. You let me die."

"No," Blaine felt tears stinging at his eyes. A small voice was screaming in his mind that this wasn't real, but he ignored it. "I swear, I didn't mean to. I wanted to save you."

The thing stepped forward. Blaine didn't move. It wrapped Kurt's long, cold fingers around Blaine's neck. "This is what will happen if you keep me with you," it whispered into Blaine's ear. "I will die, and you will have to live without me. Forever." It tightened its fingers, cutting off Blaine's air. Blaine didn't struggle. "That is what you fear the most: a world without Kurt." Kurt smiled; a malicious smile Blaine had never seen before on his best friend. It contorted his features strangely. Blaine began to struggle again.

"You're—not—Kurt," He gasped out. The fog faded, long tendrils creeping out of sight. "This—isn't—real."

Kurt's dead eyes gazed at him curiously before morphing into the red eyes of the boogeyman. Blaine was back in the cave. The boogeyman still had an iron grip on his throat though, and dark spots were circling at the edge of his vision.

"You have provided me with a good meal," said the boogeyman. "But I think I have had enough of you." He squeezed Blaine's neck tighter.

Faintly Blaine heard Kurt yelling something from the pit. If I have to die, at least he'll be the last thing I ever hear, Blaine thought dreamily. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't see. Blaine was ready to surrender when he heard a feral scream.

"HANDS OFF YOU WRINKLY OLD BASTARD!" Santana roared, wielding a huge machete. It collided with an extremely surprised boogeyman, loping off his head with one swing. It landed somewhere in the dark. His fingers instantly relaxed their grip on Blaine's throat. Blaine greedily sucked in air, coughing hoarsely. The boogeyman's headless body collapsed, thick black blood oozing from the stump. Blaine scooted away from it.

"Is it dead?" he croaked out.

Santana marched over to the body fearlessly. She poked it with the bloody machete. It didn't move. For good measure, she kicked it with a hard boot. No movement. "Dead enough," she shrugged.

"What's going on up there?" a voice drifted from the pit. Blaine crawled over to the edge and looked down. Kurt stood there with a rock in each hand, looking scared to death and ready to fight. "Blaine?" Kurt called worriedly. Brendan was huddled against the wall.

"Guess we better get them out," Blaine smiled weakly. Santana just smirked and unwound a thick rope from around her waist.

The next day, Blaine was ready to leave Gables.

In the morning, though. Because he was really fucking exhausted. After salting and burning the boogeyman's remains (Blaine's motto was 'when in doubt, salt and burn'), they went back to the motel to clean up and shower and get their stories straight for the morning. Because Brendan couldn't exactly say he had been kidnapped by the boogeyman. They settled on him getting trapped while exploring the mines. The next day had been spent at Brendan's house with Santana. The kid's parents cried and thanked them for saving their son. Blaine didn't miss the wide smile Kurt got when Brendan ran to his mom and dad and cried. It really was a good feeling. Knowing you've made a difference in someone's lives. Knowing you brought back someone's baby. Blaine was silently thankful Kurt got to experience that feeling at least once.

Later, while the family was pumping their aunt for details, Kurt whispered into his ear"This is why it's worth it." Blaine looked into those shining blue eyes and could only nod in agreement.

Tonight, Kurt had made Blaine stay in the room while he went out to get them dinner. To kill time, Blaine was cleaning out his guns. Most of the bags were packed, and Santana was staying with the Latches'. Before he and Kurt had left, she pulled Blaine aside to give him a fierce hug.

'Kurt's a keeper.' she said quietly. 'Don't screw that up.'

Blaine hoped he wouldn't. But the boogeyman's vision kept returning. Every time Blaine contemplated leaving Kurt, his stomach twisted up painfully.

He didn't know what to do.

"Back!" a muffled voice called through the door. It opened to reveal a broadly grinning Kurt. He was carrying several bags, but waved away Blaine's offer to help. Kurt deposited the bags on the room's table, dragging the whole thing over to the bed so they both could sit.

Blaine watched wonderingly as Kurt began opening the paper bags. "We're here one night, Kurt, how much did you buy?"

Kurt shrugged. "It's Thanksgiving." He said quietly.

Oh. Blaine thought about it. Thanksgiving had never meant much to him. He was always on the road, and more often than not spent Thanksgiving by himself. He had vague memories of his whole family sitting together around a huge table, his father carving an enormous bird and his mother serving homemade cranberry sauce. But they were just memories.

"Dad and I used to have Thanksgiving together." Kurt paused, but kept unpacking. He revealed sliced turkey, a small container of stuffing, canned cranberry sauce (and a can-opener), microwavable mashed potatoes, and a case of beer. "It was the only time I'd ever let him in the kitchen. He was in charge of the turkey." Kurt smiled faintly. "Thanksgiving was always an important time for us because it meant we were still together. And even though it's different this year Blaine felt guilt rise up in his throat.—I'd still really like it if you celebrate with me." Blaine saw the hopeful look in Kurt's eyes through the sadness.

"'Course I'll celebrate with you." He scoffed, trying to hide a grin. "You got pie, right? It's not Thanksgiving without pie." He smiled as Kurt rolled his eyes and took out an enormous apple pie. Blaine loved pie.

When everything was warmed up and set out without any major catastrophes (there was a mild incident with the potatoes but Kurt managed to rescue some, and now Blaine was not permitted near the microwave for anything), Blaine sighed happily.

"This is my first real Thanksgiving in years," he remarked. "So before anything, thank you for all this." Blaine held up a beer for a toast.

Kurt obliged. He looked into the small feast he had put together. "Thank you for everything." He said simply and drank deep.

Blaine copied. "Thank you for everything too." They shared a look of understanding.

But the food looked good, and they tucked in. Blaine demolished most of the pie and even convinced Kurt to have a slice. Kurt moaned about his figure, but Blaine saw him sneaking extra bites and teased him relentlessly until Kurt threatened to take back his guitar. Blaine said that was low because Pavarotti was both of their baby, and that selling her would be cruel, and then Kurt laughed at him for naming his guitar 'Pavarotti.'

Blaine couldn't remember a better Thanksgiving.